


Inevitably Homoerotic Holiday Hits

by prosopopeya



Series: Spanish Romantic Heroes [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Holidays, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-03 21:52:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prosopopeya/pseuds/prosopopeya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Each chapter is a different holiday in the lives of Dean and Castiel from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/464713">Inevitable Homoeroticism in Spanish Romantic Heroes</a>. Currently, there are only four chapters; I reserve the right to update when the holiday mood strikes!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Christmas

There are a few days, before Jess and Sam come by and Castiel comes back from visiting his family, where it’s just Dean and Bobby. It’s probably unfortunate for everyone else that the bulk of the decorating happens then because the Christmas tree winds up having washers and nuts strung up along it, and the advent calendar is actually just Dean and Bobby taking a shot every night. They wrap presents together, sharing a six pack and crooning along as off-key as possible to the same old tired Christmas songs on the radio.

“I knew turning gay would make you into some kind of Martha Stewart,” Bobby grunts as Dean recaps the Sharpie. These comments aren’t wholly funny to him yet, and he glares up at him for a few seconds before he tosses the Sharpie over to him.

“Well, I have always been a crafty son of a bitch,” he counters, and he leans over, sliding Sam’s present under the tree. He and Bobby hadn’t been able to find any Christmas wrapping paper, and they also couldn’t find the desire to go to the store, so Dean had written “Jesus” on the Happy Birthday paper Bobby did somehow manage to have.

Castiel had come home with Dean from college, and he’d stayed a week; Dean showed him around, what little there was to see, and he taught him how to change the oil in his car. Castiel made dinner for them, and Bobby had promptly told him that he’s invited for dinner whenever he likes, provided he cooks. Dean and Bobby hadn’t talked about it before, and they haven’t mentioned it since, but Dean and Castiel shared Dean’s room the whole time.

“Cas coming back tomorrow?” Bobby asks, scribbling “Jesus” on his own package.

“Yeah.”

Dean opens his beer on the coffee table and sits back, resting his back against the couch. The tree lights reflect off the washers, but there are other ornaments there, too, things he remembers from his Christmas trees growing up. There aren’t many anymore, granted; there weren’t many to start with, and somehow the boxes of their Christmas decorations didn’t survive their last move to Bobby’s house. He doesn’t let his eyes linger very long over those; instead he finds the ones that Bobby scrounged up for them their first Christmas here, spraypainted pinecones and acorns with hooks in the top.

They had to make those, the three of them sitting in this living room like he and Bobby are now. Actually, Dean and Bobby had been more into it than Sam, who was 14 and surly and who had long given up the Christmas spirit after 14 years of less-than-ideal celebrations. Dean had been hurting; it was his first Christmas without his dad, his first Christmas of real, official adulthood even if it felt like his tenth, but Sam’s grumpy face and empty sighs were probably the worst part of that Christmas.

“I like that boy.”

When Dean looks up, Bobby’s paying close attention to wrapping whatever’s in his hands that Dean can’t see through the coffee table, which leaves him free to blink and look away, unconcerned about whatever emotions are flickering over his face.

“Yeah, me too,” Dean says roughly, though he’s trying to be light.  

There isn’t much more conversation after that; they drift back into singing off-key, and Dean wraps up some books Sam had said Jess would like. Dean had thrown in a book of sex moves, for his own personal touch.

His mind drifts to the morning after they decorated the tree, when there were still ribbons and glue and string laying on the table. It was early still, and Dean was still on his school schedule, so he was up; he found Sam kneeling in front of the tree, two packages in his hands. He blushed when Dean walked in, and shrugged, sitting back.

“Merry Christmas,” he’d said, and they made coffee together, stuck candy canes in their cups, and watched _Die Hard_.

It doesn’t take long for Dean and Bobby to finish; there are only three people they’re giving presents to, each, not counting what they’re giving each other. Bobby finishes first and pushes himself to his feet; he likes to put all his presents under the tree at once, and he arranges them there before he stands and finishes off his beer.

“’Night, son,” he says gruffly, loping out of the room.

“’Night,” Dean calls after him. He leans over to put Castiel’s present under the tree, when he notices the one Bobby left for Castiel. He’d turned the wrapping paper over to the blank side, and instead of “Happy Birthday Jesus,” he wrote “Feliz Cumpleaños Jesus.”

Dean laughs, a soft sound, and shakes his head before he pulls the present and the Sharpie over, and he adds the accent mark for all the Jesús’s. 


	2. New Year's

“What a Wonderful World” plays on the TV, and Sam and Jess are kissing, and Bobby’s taking a swig of his drink, when Castiel turns to Dean, an eyebrow raised.

“Happy New Year,” he says, tentative, and Dean’s mouth is a little dry, but he thinks he can work up the words to reply.

“Happy New Year,” he murmurs back, and then he decides, well, fuck it. He leans in and brushes his lips against Castiel’s; the kiss is light and quick, but it happens regardless, and Castiel’s smile is warm when Dean pulls away. Dean’s eyes flit to Sam, and Sam’s smile is almost as warm as Castiel’s; that settles it for Dean. He slips his hand into Castiel’s as Bobby stands up.

“Yeah, yeah, you all get your kisses in. I’ll just cozy up to Jack Daniels some more, I guess.”

“Don’t be like that, Bobby.” Jess is up before any of them really knows what she’s doing, and she cups Bobby’s face before leaning in for a kiss. “There,” she says, beaming as she steps away.

“I—well,” Bobby stammers, his face flushing red, and he skirts his eyes to the floor. “Thanks.”

“Hate to break it to you, Bobby, but it don’t count if it’s not both of your first kisses,” Dean says with a wicked grin as he lifts his beer to his lips, and Bobby scowls at him.

“Since when’d you become an expert on New Year’s kisses?” he growls.

And then Castiel’s on his feet, and he sets a hand on the back of Bobby’s neck before he pulls him close and kisses him too. Dean only realizes his eyes are wide and unblinking when they start to go dry, and he can’t even manage a laugh at the look on Bobby’s face, even though Sam is rolling with laughter in his chair.

“There,” Castiel says primly, and he sits back down on the couch, leaning back against the cushion.

“There _what?_ ” Bobby barks, frowning.

“Two kisses are better than one.” He shrugs his shoulder and picks up his glass of wine, sips at it, while Sam actually is wiping tears of laughter on the sleeves of his shirt, and Jess is fighting her giggles from behind her hand.

Bobby and Dean stare at Castiel for another few, tense seconds before Bobby sighs.

“You’re all idjits,” he declares and turns on his heel to stomp toward the kitchen.

Castiel meets Dean’s eyes and quirks his eyebrow, his lips twisted into a smirk behind his wine glass. “If you keep making that face, it’ll stay that way.”

“Dude. You’d better brush your teeth before you try to kiss me again,” Dean says, voice deadly serious, and Jess loses all semblance of control as she falls in Sam’s lap, laughing hard, and Sam dissolves into another fit of amusement.

_**That's how it could've happened, but how about...** _

“Three, two, one—Happy New Year!”

There’s “Auld Lang Syne” and Dean’s surrounded by yuppie couples kissing yuppily. A champagne bottle pops over the sound of cheering and annoying party horn blowing, and Dean’s wearing a stupid, annoying plastic hat because everyone else is and this is the kind of peer pressure he succumbs to: pressure that comes from the parents of his boyfriend.

Castiel’s hand finds Dean’s arm, and his eyes are a question as he steps closer, but before Dean has a chance  to say sure, he’s here as Castiel’s boyfriend anyway, he hears the worst possible thing.

“Pucker up, big boy!”

Gabriel grabs his face and turns his head and he plants a pretty serious kiss on Dean’s lips. He’s laughing as he pulls away, and he pats Dean’s cheek, a little too hard.

“Happy New Year, bro, bro’s beau.” He darts away before Dean has a chance to shove his stupid party blower thing up his nose, and Castiel’s hand squeezes his arm.

“Dean.” Castiel apologizes too much for Gabriel, Dean thinks as he turns around, and he holds up a hand to stop him.

“No, don’t.” He takes a long-suffering breath. “I can put up with it so long as he gets me on the _Dr. Sexy_ set,” he says lowly, and Castiel’s laugh is warm before he leans in to kiss Dean, far too briefly; he draws away with a frown.

“Oh my God. I think I can taste my brother on your lips.” His face falls, and his eyes widen, and he steps away. “I—excuse me.”

He disappears, and Dean seeks out that champagne. He’s going to need it. 


	3. Spring Break

It’s the first day of spring break, and Dean really ought to be reading something or poring over the comps notes again, but his brain is so crammed full of la Generación del 98 and colonial rhetoric and surrealist bullshit that he seriously needs two to three hours watching shitty (but oh so good) television on his boyfriend’s couch. Makeouts aren’t even necessary; actually, it’s probably better to avoid the makeouts because not only does he not feel sexy right now, makeouts require energy and concentration, and he really just wants to watch Dr. Sexy be sexy in cowboy boots.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean greets when Castiel opens the door, and he kisses Cas before brushing past him.

“Dean—”

There’s worry in Castiel’s voice, but Dean only has eyes for Castiel’s couch. He drops his bag on the floor and then faceplants down onto the couch, burying his face in one of Castiel’s just-for-decoration pillows and groaning.

“No puedo pensar,” he says into the fabric, and he didn’t even mean to speak in Spanish. It just came out. _He really needs a break._ “Just need to die. On your couch. Beer?”

“I hope you regain the ability to speak in full sentences when it comes time for comps.”

Dean mumbles a reply and nuzzles against the pillow, and he wonders if he ought to be concerned that Castiel’s amusement melts into that urgent hesitation again. He decides that if it isn’t a question on comps, he can’t really worry about it right now.

“Dean, I… I’ll get you a beer.”

Good, that’s all Dean needs right now, and he sighs, forcing relaxation into his shoulders as he waits for Castiel to come back and give him a beer and then give Dean a lap-sized pillow. The sudden weight on Dean’s back startles him out of his comfort, and he twists his head around.

“Cas,” he calls.

“Yes?”

“There’s a cat on my back.”

Castiel comes back into the room with a beer for both of them and a worried little smile on his face.

“Oh, good. She doesn’t seem too afraid of you. Her name is Anna.”

Castiel sets their beers down and picks Anna up; she butts her head against Castiel’s chin, but her paws reach over his arm and toward Dean, as she’s clearly not finished exploring this new person.

“Anna?” Dean flops over and pulls himself into a sitting position, watching the kitten watch him with bright green eyes. She strains forward to smell him, and Dean offers his hand, but she only gives it a cursory smell before she’s looking at him with bright eyes again.

“Well, Anael, but Anna for short. I think she… I think she wants to smell your head, Dean.”

Dean looks up at Castiel, and there’s no mistaking the childish excitement in his eyes. Castiel goes ga-ga for cats, it seems. He complies and stands up so he can stoop and offer his head to Anna. Her wet nose presses against his cheek, and then his nose, and then his mouth, and then she pulls away with another bright-eyed look, and she squirms in Castiel’s arms. Castiel lets her down, and she starts smelling Dean’s shoes.

“So, I spend all my time reading for comps, and you dump me for a cat?” Dean asks, not entirely seriously, and Castiel shrugs.

“Something like that. I _did_ find myself strangely lonely without you, even though less than a year ago, I was just fine.”

His smile is accusatory, but fond; they’ve gotten on each other about this before, about how… inevitable this feels. Dean snorts and looks down at Anna, chewing on one of his shoelaces.

“Guess this is what I get when I don’t come over to your house for a couple weeks, huh?”

“When you go for your PhD comps, I’ll get a dog.”

“Then I hate to break it to you, Cas, but you won’t be getting a dog anytime soon.”

Dean rolls his eyes and sits on the couch again; Anna jumps away from his feet and watches him warily until he’s seated, and she takes the opportunity to jump on him again, her little paws slipping on Dean’s legs until they find purchase.

“She is pretty cute,” he allows, and he scratches a finger on the top of her tiny head. She stops squirming and instead straightens up, leaning her head up into his touch.

“She likes you.” Castiel sits, and Dean definitely notices the hint of surprise. “She took a few days to warm up to me.”

“Yeah, well, I did roll in a field of catnip on my way over.” Dean scratches Anna’s chin, but she dodges and instead starts to lick his fingers, which is painful and wet and kind of weird because he can tell it’s definitely a _washing_ kind of lick rather than a hey-I-like-what-you-touched kind of lick.

“Apparently.”

Castiel’s lips are thin, and shit, Dean actually feels a little guilty that Castiel’s cat likes Dean maybe more than he does. He passes a hand over Anna’s back and then scoops her up to dump her in Castiel’s lap.

“Cat or no cat, my plans haven’t changed. _Dr. Sexy_ , beer, incomplete sentences.”

Dean goes to put the DVD in, kneeling on the floor, and after a minute of fiddling with Castiel’s DVD player, he feels a fuzzy body pressing against his side, and then there’s a tiny orange head, sniffing at the DVD player.

“Look, are you going to make following me everywhere a thing?” he asks fondly, running a finger down her spine and watching her body move to meet him. “Because you’re gonna make my boyfriend jealous.”

  She looks at him and meows, and then rubs her head against the DVD case. Dean gives her another scritch before he returns to the couch, flopping down with his head in Castiel’s lap. Castiel’s hand finds his hair and the other one settles comfortably on his chest, and everything’s great in Dean’s world even if Dr. Sexy’s having some trouble with a new intern, and then there’s a weight on his stomach again.

Anna looks up at him, eyes hesitant and bright, and then she crawls up Dean’s body, wobbly as she moves over him, as she steps over Castiel’s arm.

“Um—” Dean manages when she puts her face in his again. “Um, cat—”

Cat tongues are very rough, Dean discovers. Especially when they lick your chin. When they go for your nostril, they just feel skinny and warm and wet.

“Cas, your cat’s trying to make out with me.” Dean tries to push her away, but she comes back, and Castiel’s laughing underneath him. Dean scowls and scoops her up and sets her on the floor, but she’s undeterred and leaps back onto his chest.

“Cas!”

“You ought to stop rolling in catnip fields,” Castiel chides, and Anna puts her nose against Dean’s face again, but she finds Dean’s forehead, which his more acceptable than his freaking nostril, and he sighs and complains until she satisfies herself and jumps down. The alternative was sitting up and losing his Castiel pillow, losing the fingers in his hair. He reaches up and wipes his sleeve over his face.

“Maybe it’s true what they say about pets and their owners. She wants to put her tongue all over you just as much as I do.”

Dean looks up, but Castiel’s watching Anna pounce some tweety bird toy on the floor.

“Well. I like yours better,” Dean mumbles, turning back to the TV. There’s a beat wherein Anna beats the everloving shit out of that bird toy, and then Castiel’s fingers pause in his hair.

“Sometimes—only sometimes, of course—I wish Gabriel were here. I could use his help in determining the best bestiality joke that can be made from what you just said.”

Dean glares at him.

“That’s funny. That’s the exact reason I don’t want Gabriel around.”


	4. Thanksgiving, the Second

Cas's house is warm and dim, lit only by the Christmas tree standing up in the corner. Dean's stuffed and exhausted, worn out by the turkey coma and doing dishes and the buzz of family that filled up this place all day. Sam and Jess are in the guest bedroom; Bobby drove back early, and Sam and Dean teased him about how he's meeting up with Sheriff Mills _again_ Cas had never cooked a Thanksgiving dinner, but Dean had, so he taught him a few things while he let Cas make a few dishes of his own, repping the Spanish flair.

They should be in bed, but they're slumped together on the couch. Cas's lips are against the top of his ear, and his fingers are tracing small circles on Dean's shoulder. Mostly, Dean's trying not to groan continuously about being so full he almost hurts, but he can tell that Cas is up there thinking.

"What's up?"

Cas hums, and it vibrates through Dean, making him squirm a little. With a huff, Cas sits back, though he leaves his hand on Dean's shoulder.

"I was thinking about last Thanksgiving."

Well, Dean _was_ comfortable. They haven't talked in extensive detail about what happened. Like, they had the talk required to get over the fact that Dean had lied for a goodish amount of time, letting Cas think that Sam knew about their relationship when really Sam thought he was a girl. It doesn't come up in conversation on the daily though, especially since Dean's been dealing with all that.

"You mean how it was awesome, and then fucking terrible?" 

"Yes, exactly."

"Oh, great." He pushes himself up; if anything puts a guy out of the cuddling mood, it's being reminded of his colossal fuckups.

" _Tranquilo_. I'm being thankful that this year is going to be more of the former, less of the latter."

Dean starts to roll his eyes and grump some more, but Cas touches his arm.

"I'm being thankful for _you_. This year I get to have you, all of you. And you get to have all of you... too." He frowns. "This sounded better in my head, but Dean, you've come so far. Not just in accepting yourself, in accepting us, but also in school. Dean, I am so proud of you."

Dean thought he was just struggling to get by in this program, but his version of "just struggling to get by" led to him passing all his exams and somehow getting asked back for his PhD. He never thought he'd get that far, and he usually blames it on Cas's influence. Cas did help him study, which was totally legit because he had nothing to do with the tests; Jo knows that, but she and Dean almost have a running joke about it.

In front of Jo, Cas joins in on the joke, but when they're alone, Cas reminds Dean that he got this far because he's smart. He's had a lot of people tell him that along the way; Bobby, some of his professors back at his community college, some at his four-year college, but Dean always understood it as the "smart for who you are." Smart for some kid who worked more than he went to high school, unexpectedly smart compared to everyone's expectations of him.

Honestly, Dean's not doing a good job of taking that in, but Cas tries not to let him forget it. Which brings them to now, Dean guesses. He can feel his face start to flush already.

"Cas, come on. Don't you take holidays off from forcing me to get over my whatever-you-call-it."

"Inability to internalize your own successes and strengths? And no."

This time, Cas doesn't stop Dean from rolling his eyes and dropping his head back against the couch, and they slip into silence again. Dean's got three papers coming up, and he's 95% sure he's going to need to extend one until January because his wires are so fried from cramming for his exams that he's been a mess all semester. His grading's piling up, and every time he thinks about the fact that he has to go through comps _again_ in another two years, his chest seizes up and he thinks about quitting.

Before, the only reason he would've been able to come up with for staying was all about Sam, money, and convenience. He's here, he's got a job, his tuition's covered. Why bail out of getting a free degree? That'd be dumb. And now...

It's not about Cas. Dean could drop out and still live here with Cas. It's not about being dumb; he could cut his losses, accept the MA as the only goal he'd ever really had his sights on anyway, and leave. No, he's here because he wants to be. He doesn't like the stress, and he sure as hell hates the glimpses of academic politics he's been getting, but he likes what he's studying. He likes teaching. He can see himself doing this. If he got this far, he can keep going, and he doesn't have to be miserable doing it.

And that? That's Cas's influence. That's all the stuff he's been whispering in Dean's ear since he started swearing up and down him passing comps was a fluke.

He's not still here because he wants to support someone else, or make someone else happy. He's here because he's... fulfilled. Because he thinks he might've found a place in the world, and not one he ever would've let himself dream about before.

"Thanks." He's not sure he's said that before, not about this.

They look at each other at the same time, and Cas holds Dean's gaze for a moment before he smiles, leans in, and kisses him softly, the moment dragging out until Dean groans and puts their foreheads together.

"I wish I wasn't too full to fool around."

Cas huffs his laugh against Dean's lips, and Dean can tell he's trying not to be too loud, not to disturb the moment. He touches Dean's cheek, fingers tracing his jaw, back until he can slip his fingers through his hair.

"Tomorrow," he says, promising so much more than just tomorrow. 


	5. Dean's Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A guest-written chapter from Cas's POV as he prepares for Dean's birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was very kindly guest written by [Liz](http://marbleflan.tumblr.com/), who is far more initimately acquainted with Spanish cuisine than I am.

It is both a blessing and a curse to be in the same profession, but further along in your career, than your partner, Castiel decides after the fifth day in a row that he comes home to his apartment to find Dean sprawled out amongst a growing pile of papers and books on the living room floor. He remembers his own PhD comps with a mixture of revulsion and nostalgia and finds himself having to bite his tongue daily because the last thing someone in that situation needs is a lot of well-meaning but nerve-wracking advice. He wants to help, but instead finds himself retreating to the kitchen to putter around with elaborate dinners, hoping Dean will absorb his encouragement by osmosis, if nothing else.

Then Dean’s birthday arrives on the same day that Dean announces, in an out-of-the-blue phone call, that he’s been awarded a fellowship to work on his language skills in Salamanca, and he’ll be spending his summer, he says, affecting his most Castiel-sounding voice, _abroad_. Castiel decides it’s time for a celebration. He is secretly pleased for the excuse to stop by the specialty grocer -- the one Dean refuses to even step into -- and spend way too much money on an assortment of Spanish cuisine essentials, smoked paprika and sherry vinegar, imported cured jamón cut right off the leg in front of him and raw sheep’s milk cheese that he can smell through two layers of waxed paper wrapping. He talks to the sommelier for at least twenty minutes before he selects an embarrassingly over-priced garnacha and he buys creamy, local, organic potatoes even though Idaho bakers would work fine for what he has in mind.

He texts Dean while he waits for the check out cashier to bag all of his purchases, fiddling with the wording until it’s formal but friendly.

> Cooking you dinner tonight. Please arrive at 8 o’clock. Do not arrive early! Happy birthday.

He manages to make it to his car without help and feels his phone buzzing in his pocket just as he closes the trunk.

> Ok but there better be pie

It takes nearly all day to complete the meal, but by the time the clock strikes 7:30, Castiel has everything under control enough to take a very quick shower, dress, and set the table. It’s more food than the two of them could eat in a week, and Castiel is impressed with his spread: a charcuterie plate to start with curls of jamón, tart Spanish olives, cheese, membrillo, spiced marcona almonds, and fig jam; then Spanish tortilla, roasted tomatoes drenched in olive oil and flavored with rosemary and fennel seeds, and little individual casido cooked in small clay pots, and a large and rather fragrant skillet full of paella—and it’s a testament to how he feels about Dean that he hasn’t included calamari in the dish because he knows Dean doesn’t like it. For dessert he’s made a cheesecake with goat cheese—it’s not the sweetest, and he knows that Dean has a sweet tooth, but he hopes it counts as the promised pie.

He’s feeling rather pleased with himself when Dean arrives, knocking on the door even though he now has his own key. Castiel opens the door and pulls Dean in, kissing him quickly but firmly before shutting the door behind them.

“Something smells good.”

“I’m glad, and I hope you are hungry. I may have gone slightly overboard in the preparation of tonight’s meal.”

Dean steps past Castiel into the kitchen, eyes widening at the crowded table.

“I’ll say. Why do I feel like you’re about to drop some kind of bomb on me? You’re not pregnant are you?”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “Hardly. It’s your birthday, and with the good news about your fellowship, I thought tonight called for something a little special.”

Dean smiles, but something in his smile seems pained. “You didn’t have to do this,” he says quietly.

“Of course I did. I got about four histrionic emails from Sam reminding me that your birthday was coming up and charging me to make it memorable on pain of... well, he didn’t quite say on pain of what, but the implication was that it would be unsavory.”

This brings out a genuine smile, but it fades quickly. “I don’t mean about that. I mean about the other thing. Spain, this summer. We don’t need to celebrate that. It’s not like it was that difficult to get.”

Castiel wrinkles his brow. “I don’t care how difficult it was or wasn’t to get, I’m still proud of you. You were so excited about this earlier. What changed?”

“It’s just more work, Castiel. I don’t even know how I’m gonna make it through this semester, let alone a whole summer in Spain.”

Castiel steps forward, tries to pull Dean into an embrace but Dean pulls back—not a rejection, but not an invitation for touch either.

“Dean, I think you are more than capable. You’ve already proven that when you earned your Master’s degree last year. You can do this.”

“Yeah, okay.” Dean shifts on his feet, not meeting Castiel’s gaze.

“Let’s sit down. Can we talk about this?” Dean nods and lets Castiel maneuver him into the living room and down on the couch. Castiel sits close, one hand on Dean’s knee, but neither of them say anything for a long while. Finally, Dean sighs.

“Food’s getting cold.”

“I don’t care about that. I care about you. Where’s this all coming from? I know you’ve been stressed lately by your workload, but I know you know that you’re more than able to get through it.”

“Yeah I know,” Dean says, still staring down at his hands, “I know I can do it. I just wonder sometimes if I really want to.” He looks up at Castiel, but his expression is unreadable. “I talked to Bobby today.”

It’s not exactly a non-sequitur, but it’s not what Castiel expected to hear.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Just jawing. Catching up. Bobby went on and on about how he’s gonna retire one of these days. It just got me thinking.”

“About what?”

“’Bout what might happen to the shop if Bobby ever shoves off. Used to be that I couldn’t imagine myself anywhere else but in that shop, rolled up under the engine of a Chevy.” Dean pauses, closes his eyes like he’s searching for the right words. “I miss it.”

“I think that’s pretty understandable.”

“It’s just... well, what if that’s what I’m supposed to be doing? What if I can’t be happy doing this academic bullshit?”

Castiel swallows, tries not to take ‘academic bullshit’ personally because—well, hell, a lot of it is bullshit.

“You think you want to go back to being a mechanic?”

“I don’t know.”

Dean looks away, back down at his hands and Castiel feels compelled to say, “Dean, it’s alright if you do. It doesn’t mean that you aren’t capable of getting your PhD if you decide you want to do something else. It doesn’t mean you’re a failure.”

Dean looks up at him again, emotion in his eyes. He doesn’t say anything, though there seems to be much left to be said. Instead, he leans forward, slow and steady, and kisses Castiel. The kiss is sweet and tender, thoughtful. It’s not often that Dean kisses him this way, this tentative. Usually their kisses are bright sparks of passion that push Castiel’s rational thoughts straight out of his mind, or they are efficient—brief and hurried as they part in the morning or when they find a moment in Castiel’s office at the end of a long day. This kiss, so uncharacteristic and yet so familiar, seems to hold in it all the things that Dean can’t quite say.

When they part, Castiel is surprised to find his heart beating fast in his chest, his pulse racing. Dean takes his hand in his own and smiles, almost shy. For a moment, he seems on the verge of saying something monumental, but when he opens his mouth to speak all he says is, “Let’s eat.”

And they do.


End file.
